Sprawling
fun in post-Gold Rush San
Francisco
– a
control freak hero, a resolutely
uncontrollable heroine, a wild
saloon, and a cast of outrageous
and eccentric characters.

Harper
Monogram · isbn:
0061083062

Is
it bad for my career to admit
this? Ah, well, it was a long
time ago . . . if there’s
one book I wrote that I was never
quite satisfied with, it’s
this one. Oh, there are lots of
good ingredients, including a
very nice secondary love story
and some really funny moments,
but for some reason it just didn’t
all come together the way I would
have liked, though I can’t
quite put my finger on the reason.
(If you have a theory, feel free
to let me know.) But if you liked
Journey Home, here’s
your chance to catch up with everybody
at the Naked Rose.

Jeremiah
Johnston
grabbed
for the
reins
of the
huge chestnut
stallion
that danced
and snorted
in front
of him.

"Ah-hah.
Gotcha
this time,
you overgrown
monster."
He took
a cautious
step and,
for the
third
time,
tried
to shove
his foot
in the
stirrup
bouncing
against
the horse's
muscular
side.
Once again,
the horse
skittered
away,
and J.J.
swore
loudly.

"Uh,
Mr. Johnston?"

J.J.
turned
to glare
at the
young
stableboy,
Tommy.
Where
had he
come from?
He'd deliberately
chosen
a time
when there'd
be no
one around
to see
him. This
early,
there
shouldn't
have been
anyone
up and
about
at the
Naked
Rose Saloon.
And the
thick,
dense
fog that
shifted
and slipped
around
him should
have made
doubly
sure that
no one
witnessed
his failure. "What
do you
want,
Tommy?"

"Um." Tommy
scuffed
his toe
in the
dirt of
the courtyard.
"Well,
I was
wondering
if'n you'd
like a
little
help."

"No," J.J.
said sharply.
His shoulder
ached
from hanging
on to
the reins;
the stupid
horse
kept trying
to jerk
away from
him. It
was all
he could
do to
keep from
wincing
in pain.
But there
was no
way he
was going
to let
this half-grown
kid, who
couldn't
weigh
110 pounds,
know that
the leather
straps
were just
about
to cut
his hand
in two.
Not when
Tommy
had absolutely
no trouble
handling
this misnamed
monster
himself.

Tommy
hesitated,
his gaze
sliding
from J.J.
to Angel
and back
again.

"Go
back to
bed."

Finally
Tommy
nodded.
Giving
one last
dubious
look over
his scrawny
shoulder,
he scooped
up the
mangy
gray cat
that had
been slinking
around
his feet
and slouched
back into
the stables.

It
was his
brother-in-law's
fault,
and J.J.
knew it.
Everyone
thought
the handsome
horse
was an
incredibly
generous
gift,
but he
was certain
that,
somehow,
his sister's
husband
had managed
to train
the horse
to behave
properly
for everyone
but him.

"Come
on, boy," J.J.
crooned. "I'm
not gonna
hurt you." Even
though
the idea
was taking
on more
appeal
all the
time.

The
animal
stilled,
earls
flattened
against
his head
and nostrils
quivering.

"That's
a good
horse." Lord,
he hated
this creature.
All animals,
for that
matter.
They were
completely
unreliable
and unmanageable.
But it
galled
him that
there
was one
thing
in his
carefully
ordered
life that
he was
unable
to control.

Somehow,
he was
going
to handle
this,
too.

He
sidled
a little
closer
to the
horse's
side.
Damn,
the thing
was big.
J.J. eyed
one of
the huge
hooves.
He knew
from experience
that it
hurt like
hell when
one of
them landed
on someone's
foot.

Despite
the clinging
chill
of the
damp morning,
a trickle
of sweat
ran down
J.J.'s
temple.
He dashed
it away
with his
perfectly
white
sleeve.

He
could
do this.
It was
further
than he'd
ever managed
to get
before.
This time
he'd gotten
the saddle
on the
blasted
thing,
after
all.

"Come
on, baby," he
said,
pitching
his voice
low, the
tone he
used in
bed when
he wasn't
interested
in sleeping.
Well,
it worked
then.
That,
at least,
he could
control.

Almost
there.
He jammed
his foot
into the
stirrup,
then dragged
himself
across
the saddle.

The
horse
bolted.
J.J. nearly
tumbled
off over
the horse's
rump but
managed
to grab
the saddle
horn.

"Whoa!"

The
horse
paid no
attention.
J.J. threw
himself
down across
Angel's
back and
clutched
the horse
around
his neck
just as
they ran
through
the gates
of the
yard.

The
street
in front
of the
saloon
sheared
down at
a sharp
angle,
ten blocks
directly
into the
waterfront
from where
the Rose
drew some
of her
less elite
clientele.
J.J. shut
his eyes
against
the sickening
tilt of
the earth
and felt
their
speed
increase
as the
horse
thundered
straight
down,
heading
for the
bay.

Well,
at least
he knew
how to
swim.

"Damn
it, Angel,
I'm gonna
kill yooouu!"

Only
the faintest
pearling
of the
air told
Angelina
Winchester
that dawn
was approaching.
The heavy
fog absorbed
sound
and light
and emotion,
leaving
only dense,
lush gray
and a
faint,
distant
prickle
of fear.

When
the stagecoach
driver
had dropped
her off
late the
night
before,
he'd made
it clear
that the
Barbary
Coast,
San Francisco's
waterfront,
was no
place
for a
woman.
Then,
she'd
been too
tired
to care.
She'd
simply
sneaked
her horse
into the
stable
behind
a busy
tavern
-- one
too busy
for anyone
to notice
an additional
horse
-- and
found
herself
a quiet
corner
around
the back.
The niche
was well-hidden
by an
overgrown
bush that
had leaves
like nothing
she'd
ever seen,
so she'd
wrapped
her arms
tightly
around
her bag
and gone
gratefully
to sleep.

Now
she pushed
herself
reluctantly
to her
feet,
every
bone and
muscle
protesting
with painful
clarity.
Shivering,
Angie
pulled
her shawl
more snugly
around
her shoulders.
Lord,
it was
cold.
It was
June,
for heaven's
sake.
Back home,
the air
would
be warm
and sweet
by now,
fragrant
with flowers
and new
grass,
settling
around
her like
an old,
favored
blanket.

And,
for the
first
time,
she wondered
if she'd
done the
right
thing.
Throughout
the entire
trip,
even as
it had
taken
her three
extra
weeks
and a
good deal
more money
than she'd
expected,
she hadn't
wondered.
Not even
when she'd
been left
behind
at several
coaching
inns and
had to
wait for
the next
stage,
when it
became
clear
her horse
wouldn't
be able
to keep
the pace
set by
the coach's
teams,
which
were fresh
from frequent
changes.

No,
she'd
never
questioned
it once,
because
she knew
the only
way she
would
ever have
the home
she'd
always
wanted
was to
leave
it first.

But
she was
no longer
so sure.
Her family
claimed
she was
too impulsive
-- reckless
-- and
couldn't
take proper
care of
herself.
She knew they
were wrong.

If
only she
had a
bit more
of the
money
she'd
started
out with.
If only
the air
didn't
reek with
the stench
of rotting
fish,
salt water,
and the
sour smell
of the
dingy
saloon.

And
if only
it weren't
so dark,
if she
could
depend
on the
welcoming
glow of
the street
lights.
But they
were relentlessly
dark;
the driver
had told
her the
lights
had been
shut off
the year
before,
when the
city refused
to pay
the gas
company.
The depression
that had
set in
when the
gold fields
played
out had
darkened
the bright,
beckoning
light
of San
Francisco.
She felt
an equal,
suffocating
dimming
of her
hopes.

Ruthlessly,
she shoved
her loose
braid
down the
back of
her blouse,
hoping
that,
for once,
it would
stay safely
tucked
out of
her way.
She jammed
her shabby
hat back
on her
head,
ignoring
the grumbling
protests
of her
stomach.

After
all, she
was here.
There
was little
use in
second
thoughts
now. First,
she needed
a job.
It wasn't
as if
she didn't
have the
skills
to get
one.

Grabby
her satchel,
she peeked
around
the corner
of the
stable.
The yard
leading
to the
back of
the saloon
was empty.
Satisfied
that any
remaining
inhabitants
of the
saloon
were resting
up after
last night's
revels,
she headed
for the
stable
door.

Yes,
she had
her talent,
and she
had Lance.
What more
could
a woman
need?

Though
breakfast
would
be nice.

There
was no
help for
it. He'd
fought
the horse,
Angel's
hooves
thundering
wildly
on the
planked
street,
all the
way down
to the
waterfront.
The increasingly
dilapidated
buildings
were a
blur,
flashing
across
the edges
of his
vision
as he
clung
to the
horse's
back.

He
had just
enough
impression
of his
surroundings
to recognize
a large,
brick
warehouse.
Just two
more blocks
to the
wharf,
and then
there
was only
a long,
deceptively
sturdy-looking
dock that
he had
a sneaking
suspicion
just might
collapse
under
the weight
of the
overgrown,
ill-mannered
moose
beneath
him.

Maybe,
if a little
of his
usual
luck returned,
the thing
would
be too
stupid
to know
how to
swim.
Good riddance.

He
blinked,
trying
to clear
his eyes,
and saw
the other
horse.
It pounded
along
beside
him, keeping
pace.
This one
was every
bit as
big and
as fast
as Angle,
but a
woman
huddled
on its
back.
He caught
a quick
glimpse
of dark
hair,
streaming
along
behind
her like
an unfurling
black
silk flag.

Lord,
she must
be scared
to death,
swept
along
on a runaway
horse.

Hell.
It was
going
to be
up to
him to
save her.
And it
was going
to beat
the dickens
out of
his new
suit.

He
took a
great
gulp of
air and
gathered
his strength.

And
then,
without
giving
himself
any time
to think
more about
it, he
jumped.